Pulling On A Thread
by LongRider
Summary: If a persons life is a tapestry. Then what happens when you pull on a single thread? Altering the design? Random scenes, ficlets, parts and pieces that have the potential to become stories in their own right.
1. A Career In The Air Force

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement or insult is intended. Reviews are always welcome, lawsuits are not.

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The man in the Air Force standard issue BDU's or battle dress uniform kneeled in the middle of the large room.

The whole time looking around himself at the ornate chamber and the heavily armed guards who had their weapons trained on him the entire time that their boss continued to lecture him like the captive audience he was.

The headman, or headwoman as the prisoner corrected himself seemed to be hitting all the supervillain monologue hot points.

How inferior his efforts had been.

How inevitable his defeat was.

How if he had been in her employ he would have been the winner and not the loser.

Looking at the guards, he absently noted they were the typical giant sized, grim faced lot who took whatever work they could get. Putting up with just about anything so long as the pay was good.

The pay probably was good, the boss was immaculately well groomed, wearing a ridiculously expensive looking outfit. Probably tailor made. The room was large and well appointed. Business must be good.

Judging by the guards blank expressions, he had a feeling he should have been paying more attention for what felt like a well rehearsed speech. It was obviously lost on all of them.

Still, that was probably for the best. You couldn't be the boss of the bad guys if you had henchmen who were as smart as you were. They might start asking questions, or even worse, decide they should be the boss instead.

Thinking about it from this perspective, he couldn't help wondering if the bosses were lonely running their groups, plotting their plots, scheming their schemes and of course, rehearsing their supervillain monologues.

It would explain why they got so damn chatty when they had someone new to talk to.

A completely absurd thought of setting up a supervillain dating service suddenly popped into his mind. Almost making him giggle in front of his captors. _Villains, villains, villains. Where you can meet up, chat, exchange numbers and world domination plans._

Testing his bonds again, Clark Kent couldn't help wondering what his life would have been like if not for one Air Force recruiter.

Danny Kwan, the son of the late principal James Kwan. Had set up a booth on career day for the Air Force at Smallville High.

It was shortly after meeting Danny that his father, the principal had been killed in a matter that actually involved Danny himself.

Turned out Danny had been indirectly the cause for what had amounted to a revenge killing by a boy named Justin Gaines, who only remembered the car that nearly killed him, not the driver.

When he had been arrested, Danny had used his one phone call to get help from a friend he had gone to the academy with.

This friend had turned up in Smallville a day later and had proceeded to take an interest in the case and everything and everyone even remotely involved.

Including the young man who had all but solved said case.

In times of stress, people go with what they know best. Bakers, bake. Farmers, farm.

Recruiters, it turned out, recruit.

So now that Clark had been marked as a person of interest and a potential candidate. Danny's Air Force friend had insisted on staying in touch.

Over the years she had nudged, cajoled and baited Clark towards service in the Air Force with logic puzzles, mathematical equations, obscure translations and a host of other things until he became old enough for enlistment.

Clark had done his level best to keep away from a very tempting, very promising future and certain exposure as an alien on earth.

In retrospect he should have known better than to try to keep a mystery away from the frighteningly intelligent Samantha Carter of SG-1.

"I said! Do you have anything to say for yourself tau'ri? Before your life is taken by the living god Amaterasu?" the slender, asian woman who was possessed by a small snake like symbiote with delusions of grandeur demanded of him.

Clark Kent, newest member of SG-1, simply looked up at her.

Then he smiled.

"Have you ever heard the term, 'Trojan Horse'?"

The superior look Amaterasu gave him turned to confusion, then fear as he snapped his bonds with a flex of his arms.


	2. Not An Agent Of SHIELD

It was a typical morning on the Kent Farm.

Clark Kent had just let the porch door shut behind him and was about to get started on his chores when he spotted the cherry red classic corvette making its way up the driveway.

Pulling to a stop in front of the house. The driver exited the vehicle to reveal a man in a suit and the shiniest shoes Clark had ever seen in his life.

"Mr Kent? My name is Phil Coulson, I'm an agent of SHIELD. I'd like to talk to you about some of the unusual events that have taken place in this town."

Stepping down off the porch, Clark gave the surrounding area a quick glance before replying.

"Would you like some coffee? Maybe something for the other agent who is probably pointing a weapon at me right now?"

"What are you talking . . . ."

"I know every inch of this farm and every animal on it Agent Coulson, the only reason that the herd of cows on this land aren't by the closest fence waiting for breakfast is because someone is in their field right now. Cows are social animals, if somebody is around they'll want to investigate."

"I'll be sure to remember that."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have chores to see to and an agent to rescue from a field before the bull finds them, bulls aren't so social. Please see yourself out."

"I still have some questions for you, Mr Kent."

"Then I hope you don't mind getting those shoes dirty, Agent Coulson."

Heading over to the hay bales, Coulson noticed how easily Clark Kent lifted a bale in each hand. Not afraid of a little hard work, Coulson lifted a third bale and followed the younger man to his destination.

"SHIELD has been aware of you for some time, Mr Kent. You have some unique abilities, I'd like to know how you acquired them."

"I grew up on a farm, studied at Kansas state for a while, I don't see how you would define anything about me as 'unique'."

"Very well, what can you tell me about the odd events in this town?"

"There was a meteor shower some years back, some people think that has something to do with these odd events you're talking about."

"And the events where you seem to be present at the sites of major disturbances."

"Curiosity, I'm thinking of a career in journalism Agent Coulson."

"Really? I find it interesting that you seem to get there before the police do."

"Agent Coulson, I'm a busy man, I have a lot of chores to do and only so much daylight, please get to the point."

"SHIELD would like you to come with me to a facility that can help you with your unique gifts."

"Not interested."

"I'm afraid I have to insist."

"Then you should have come alone, please ask the agent who is no doubt pointing a weapon at me to get out of that field before the bull sees them and decides to charge."

"There is no bull in that field."

"And I suppose there is no agent with a gun aimed at me? You asked, I refused, please leave."

"This is something that needs to be done. Part of SHIELD's mandate is to find and classify all individuals who present metahuman abilities."

"Then they shouldn't have sent an assassin."

"Mr Kent, with your abilities, you will be hunted and exploited by people who would want to use you to their own ends."

"So far I'm not seeing any difference from what you're proposing."

"We're the good guys Mr Kent."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"Director Fury himself asked that I come here."

"Then Director Fury wasted your time. I don't need or want what you and SHIELD are offering. You have nothing to offer me, you have nothing I'm interested in, please leave."

"Mr Kent if you would just . . ."

"AGENT COULSON! I've tried being polite, I've tried being blunt, now you're forcing me to be rude, if that doesn't work I'm afraid I'm going to have to get unpleasant. Take your fellow agent and that beautiful car off my property before I get my grandfathers shotgun and shoot at you for trespassing."

"In case you change your mind." Handing Clark a card from his inside jacket pocket. Agent Coulson made his way towards Lola.


	3. An Unlikely Friendship

They had met in a small Kansas town.

She had come closer than most to learning his secrets.

He had come close to learning some of hers.

They'd been in each others lives, with small town living, it was unavoidable. But they'd gone their separate ways years ago.

Clark Kent was seeing the world, delivering food, clean water and supplies to where they were needed most, while teaching people all the skills of the farming trade. Trying to figure out what to do with his life and where he should be. Because he had no intention of working at the Daily Planet just because somebody waived an application form under his nose. Doubly so while it was still owned by Lex. No matter if he was missing.

Helen Bryce was one of the resident doctors for the woefully underfunded travelling clinic. After how things had ended for her, she had decided to go back to basics. Of course, she couldn't continue with the wreck that was her old life, having thoroughly burned her bridges there. So Helen Bryce MD, decided to go where the work was, the fact it was half a world away from the farce that had been her marriage and the complication after complication that was the relationship leading up to it, was just icing on the cake.

They'd both been living in the same village for close to a month before they'd bumped into each other.

To say it had come as a shock would be the understatement of the century.

An accidental meeting, the usual thoughtless question of "What are you doing here?" blurted out. Then the rushed answers and the equally awkward pleasantries of "How are you?" and "What have you been doing lately?"

After that first accidental meeting they soon started noticing when the other was nearby.

At first just being civil, later spending time together. Small amounts at first, they had jobs to do after all. He in the fields from sunrise to past sunset. She in the clinics until the last patient had been seen. They would share lunches when they were able to.

In the place they were living it was nice to have someone familiar to talk to. Someone who shared a little history, who didn't look and listen with polite curiosity to you as you tried to explain something they couldn't possibly understand unless they'd been there.

Anonymity was a wonderful thing. But it could be lonely, so to have someone you could talk to who just **knew** what you'd been through was truly unique.

Lunches became dinners, because it afforded them more time. And because they often skipped lunch due to both being workaholics.

They'd reminisce about a town in Kansas, about what seemed perfectly natural when you lived there, but was in fact downright weird with distance and time. They'd laugh about things only they could laugh about, because if you hadn't been there, you'd never see the funny side. They'd toast the people who had been in their lives, people they'd lost, people they'd loved and the people who had become unrecognisable.

In their shared attempt to combat homesickness, they became comfortable with each other.

It was a gradual change, they would talk about safe topics, asking about each others day, about the work and the people they were trying to help.

She wouldn't mention his ex-friend, so as not to draw attention to what he considered a very personal failure.

He wouldn't mention her ex-husband, so as not to bring up her chronically bad taste in unstable men.

When they exhausted the safe topics they started on the trickier ones. She'd ask about his family, he'd ask about her career in medicine.

When it finally came up, she was shocked to hear that he didn't blame her for her involvement in the power games of the rich and powerful. While it was true everybody had a price, it had been shameful to learn she had in fact, found out her own. So she had been pleasantly surprised to learn he didn't bare her any ill will over what had happened.

He'd learned a long time ago that everybody made mistakes, his own list was as long as his arm in that regard. He'd trusted people he shouldn't have, held people to impossibly high standards and then blamed them for falling short. He couldn't really blame her for getting stupid when it came to relationships. Especially when he got stupid when it came to trusting people when they'd given him no reason to.

In retrospect they could admit that they'd both done their best to limit the damage that had been done. She'd never revealed his secret, he'd never blamed her for wanting to solve the mystery she'd discovered.

It was after these revelations that they became friends.

On the good days they could both smile in satisfaction at a job well done.

On the bad days they could rely on each other to lift their spirits. Usually with an anecdote about home.

Their working week was gruelling, six days on, one day off, barring emergencies. On their shared off day they'd explore the surrounding countryside, seeing for themselves the wild beauty that could only be experienced in person.

If they noticed their co-workers placing bets about the irritable doctor and the considerate farmer, they gave away no sign.

They were funny like that.

Things finally came to a head when one of the village boys came staggering into the clinic screaming in broken english about his father and a truck crash.

Helen and Clark were able to get there first, while the other workers assembled a team with equipment that would be needed.

They had been able to use their own skills and abilities without restraint. With Helen as the only witness, Clark had been able to lift the wrecked truck off it's trapped driver without frightening anybody. Helen had been able to stabilise the driver, the whole time cursing a blue streak far and wide, _making Clark blush,_ without fear of being put in another anger management class.

It was a rare thing to be able to turn a bad day into a good day. So when the others showed up, they didn't question how it had happened, only that it had.

Later that evening when the driver was stable, the night had drawn in and somebody had managed to find some music and booze for the impromptu celebration. Helen and Clark were able to share a smile over something new.

If they noticed money changing hands in the background, they gave no sign.

They were funny like that.


	4. The Doctor Is In

The screams had him tumbling out of bed and running before he was even fully awake.

Old habits died hard.

He had been having pleasant dreams for once, so it stood to reason that something would tear him away from them.

As he turned a corner, he absently noted he'd grabbed a weapon and had adjusted his balance for the added weight before his bare feet even registered the freezing cold tile beneath every racing step.

Old habits may die hard, but old instincts never died.

His I.D. tells him he is Carter Hall.

His memory tells him he was once Prince Khufu, husband of Chay-Ara.

His enemies used to call him Hawkman.

But right now screams tell him he's a friend who is needed.

Crashing through the door and the bright flash of light, he slides to a stop just in time to see his friend tearing the golden helmet of Doctor Fate from their head.

Before Carter can ask, the shaking, trembling wreck of all that remains of Kent Nelson is reaching for him and grabbing him with bruising force.

"Guard the guardian, protect the protector, save the saviour. The last of his kind who came to us in a rain of fire, who will become the light that will lead all of humanity to a better tomorrow. Hope is here and must be kept safe, or that light will be forever extinguished."

"Who? Nelson, who are you talking about?" Kent Nelsons hysteria made him hold onto Carter even tighter.

"The one with three names. Clark Kent . . . Kal-El . . . Superman."

Before Carter could reply, the same door crashed open again, revealing the haggard form of Wesley Dodds.

"I see I got here just in time. You saw him didn't you Nelson? The one who can turn it around?" Dodds blurted out while catching his breath. A shivering Nelson just nodded.

That was typical Wes, they hadn't spoken in years, but despite the fact he'd seemed to have aged twenty years in the five since they'd last seen each other, he was still straight to business.

"You both saw the same thing?" Carter asked as he looked between two of his oldest surviving friends. Determined nods were his answers.

"We have to be sure." Carter could almost feel the weight of his old life resting on his shoulders again.

"Have to do something, have to do something, what do we do?" Nelson rambled as he struggled to his feet.

"We need more information, we need to send someone in to sniff out the dangers, make sure we aren't walking in blind." Inspiration struck Carter.

"Call the others, we need everyone for this."

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Author's Note: This was the original intro for my story "Under The Radar" until I realized I'd committed the ultimate fanfic faux pas by writing what amounts to a prophecy. Regardless I'm still pleased by how this intro turned out.


	5. Who are you?

Deputy Parrish was more than a little distracted when he approached his desk at the station. Said distraction being Lydia Martin, often noticed near crime scenes and visiting the station house on such a regular basis that the entire sheriff's department of Beacon Hills turned a blind eye to it. 5'2 of strawberry blond genius, who was way too willing and eager to spend her free time confusing him. So in his defense, he could be forgiven for not noticing the tall man placing a package on his desk until he was close enough to recognize the package for what it was.

"Hand over the package and nobody gets hurt." At the sound of his no-nonsense tone, Parrish could feel the other deputies tensing up behind him as the tall man turned to face him.

"What if I don't want to hand over the package?"

"I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it" Parrish suited action to words as his hand rested on the holster of his gun. Eyes never leaving the tall mans stare.

"You know it'd be a shame if I had to embarass you in front of all your friends."

The two men stared each other down for a tense moment, then started laughing before sharing a hearty hug. The tension was broken, but eyes stayed on the two men sharing the hug. In Beacon Hills, you could never be too careful.

"Good to see you big brother"

"You too, so how have you been?"

"Ah-ah, you know the rules, pie first, talk after"

"Seriously?"

"They're your rules, remember?"

"Brat"

"Gimme." Parrish removed the outer packaging, then without taking his eyes off the home made pie, _because you really couldn't take any chances with big brother around,_ he dug into the bottom drawer of his desk one handed and pulled out a spoon that was unceremoniously plunged into the centre for a sampling.

"You gonna share that?"

"You gonna stand there and pretend mom didn't give you two pies to begin with?"

"I . . Yeah alright"

Parrish smiled around the spoonful and sighed in satisfaction as he enjoyed every morsel of the tasty treat. When he noticed a few of his fellow deputies looking at his pie with interest, he suddenly felt his inner nature stirring to protect what was his.

"Parrish! Care to explain why you nearly gave me a heart attack! Not to mention threatening a civilian in my station?" Sheriff Stilinski asked while trying and failing to maintain a stern expression.

Seeing the other deputies pretending to look away and glad he now had enough control to prevent his eyes from glowing orange, Parrish mentally filed that almost incident away for later then took a step back before turning to his boss.

"This is no civilian sir, this is my big brother, Clark Kent, Clark meet my boss, Sheriff Stilinski."

"Kent? Not Parrish?" Stilinski observed as he accepted a remarkably strong handshake.

"When we first met he thought his name was Ryan James, turned out the name his birth mother gave him was Jordan Parrish, seemed a shame to make him give it up after he'd just found it."

"Plus it helped get me out of some legal trouble"

"Legal trouble? Parrish you want to explain that?"

"Sure, a quack doctor was trying to set himself up as my legal guardian, so when we found out my legal name was actually Jordan Parrish and not Ryan James like my stepdad had been telling me for years, we let the jackass win before telling him he had won legal custody of a figment of another man's imagination, while Clarks family had gotten legal custody of Jordan Parrish."

"Bet he loved that"

"Not so much, he tried to grab me in front of a courthouse full of witnesses. Lucky for me my brand new big brother was there."

"And what did big brother do?" Stilinski asked, enjoying the tale.

"Broke three bones in his hand and dislocated his wrist, then said to him 'lay another hand on my brother and I'll snap your arm off at the shoulder' of course the best part was a photographer was taking pictures of the whole thing."

"So the brat here runs up to the photographer, gives her the best puppy eyed look I've ever seen and begs for copies of all pictures taken so he has evidence for a case of assault against 'the bad doctor who tried to take him away from his new family', should have known he was going to be trouble there and then." By now everybody was listening in to the tale and smiling at how the two men were obviously enjoying telling it.

"Hey it worked didn't it?" Parrish asked Kent with mock irritation.

"Yeah it worked, worked so well every woman in smallville between the ages of fifteen and fifty felt compelled to hug him when they met him after the story got out." Kent mock glared at Parrish.

"I seem to recall you dating a few of those women."

"And all they talked about was you, do you have any idea how annoying it is to date someone who's thinking of another man?"

"Yes actually, you were the 'best-big-brother-protector-in-the-world' there was a fan club, one of them had a shrine." Parrish shuddered at the memory of finding a huge blow up picture of Clark on a dates bedroom wall.

"You dated Lex!?" Clark suddenly turned wide eyes on Jordan.

"Lex had a shrine to you!?" Jordan's own eyes widened at the implication.

"You dated the same girl" Sheriff Stilinski asked, struggling to keep up with the tennis match-like volleying back and forth between his deputy and said deputies older brother. It wasn't the worst thing in the world, but sounded complicated to his ears.

"What girl?" Both men asked in unison.

"Lex?" Stilinski asked, slightly confused. The two brothers burst out laughing.

"Lex isn't a girl." Clark clarified for his brothers boss.

"Although he did have a 'man-crush' on Clark here"

"It wasn't a man crush."

"You want to explain why he kept trying to give you gifts and why he kept coming over to visit you when he knew you'd be in the barn?" Jordan asked, waggling his eyebrows at the taller man.

"You want to explain why I can smell women's perfume on your uniform?" Clark arched an eyebrow at Parrish while Sheriff Stilinski smothered a laugh at the two men bickering. The fact Lydia Martin had taken a liking to Jordan Parrish was probably the worst kept secret in the station.

"No, no I wouldn't." Parrish turned and headed for the exit while carefully cradling the pie in both hands.

"Sheriff it was nice to meet you, excuse me." Kent then quickly followed after Parrish.

"So what's her name?"

"Clark."

"When do I get to meet her?"

"CLARK."

"Does mom know about her yet?"

"CLARK!"

"Because she was hinting about grandkids the other day."

 ** _"CLARK!"_**

Unable to take anymore, Stilinski just shook his head and laughed as he headed back to his office while Parrish all but fled the station with Kent in pursuit.

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 **Author's Note:** I Know I've been gone a long time. Thanks go out to everyone who have been patiently waiting for the next chapter.


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